Someone wrote the title of this post as part of a note they left on my desk – a riff from Mary Oliver’s poem.
How you live your days is, after all, how you live your life.
What will i do with today? I will write reports, work plans, help someone I manage with some workflow interventions, plan a discussion I’ll be running in a prison next week, sort out some budget issues, think about how we better manage some communication issues in a very stressed environment, scope next steps in a number of projects, and start enacting some of them. I will troubleshoot numerous issues; I will swear under my breath [and out loud] at the cruelty of people to each other, and be amazed by the courage, resilience, humour and imagination of my colleagues. I will read documents and reports from some new areas of responsibility, and write dozens of questions in their margins that will expose my ignorance and then add to my knowledge. I will feel depressed and hopeful, simultaneously and exhaustingly. I will write a project outline for a new type of tour, and think of solstice spaces for the middle of winter.
I will daydream of long trips to iceland, book writing, poetry and phd’s, and try again to learn some icelandic diphthongs. I will list again the myriad of possibilities swirling in my mind about how i want to spend the next three years, and feel grateful for the privilege of choice in my life.
I will peruse the Guardian and Age websites, and facebook, and maybe even twitter, over and over again, even though nothing much will change, just to clear the front of my brain for the deeper subconscious space it requires.
I will drink coffee, wine, laugh with my amazing niece, tear up when i remember friends who are going through really tough challenges, get angry at the world and myself, remember that i am inadequate and unfinished, and still be pleased when i manage something well.
And if i have time, i will buy shoes.
That’s how i will spend this one wild and precious day.
I wish it was more poetic. I wish i had the luxury of my old role, where i spent days crafting pieces of writing, and imagining new spaces, and where every intention was to fill the world with beautiful things. And yet, this is what it’s like to take responsibility: to now be the one who has the opportunity to curate a work space for those coming after me that honours their unique talent.
I wish this one wild and precious day, and this month and this year, was more blog worthy. But it’s not. So while posting has been sparse over this last year, i know the gaps between them will be even greater through this next. And this post is to draw the line and remove that responsibility from myself, to leave space for whatever comes next.
[plus: gratuitous iceland photo. because it's beautiful]